


The Lies I Told Myself

by tempered_rose



Series: The Manu, Benny, Mats Saga [2]
Category: RPF - Fandom, Real Person Fiction, Sports RPF
Genre: Angst, Break Up, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, German National Team, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Hömmels, M/M, Male Friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-20
Updated: 2014-10-20
Packaged: 2018-02-21 22:01:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2483909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tempered_rose/pseuds/tempered_rose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Benedikt has a conversation with Mats that goes all awry, fortunately, an old friend is there to help try and pick up the pieces.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Lies I Told Myself

**Author's Note:**

  * For [serein](https://archiveofourown.org/users/serein/gifts).



> Serein requested that I write a follow up to the "Manu I'm in Trouble" fic that I wrote ages ago and so, I did. The song that inspired this one is [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hig5uLy2fe0) and I like the acoustic version better for fic-purposes so there you have it. lol I feel bad for poor darling Benny :( *gives him hugs*
> 
> As always, comments are loved, concrit is welcome, and regardless, here it is. I'm quite pleased with it personally.

_The devil doesn’t come dressed in a red cape and pointy horns. He comes with a charming smile and as everything you’ve ever wished for._

Nobody is perfect, nobody stays the same; both are clichés you’ve heard a thousand times before, but it doesn’t matter. Nothing matters right now. Those words and a few hundred others came spilling from his mouth. A hundred lies mixed with a thousand truths and his words were so pretty, so gorgeous in their pain as he spoke of how sorry he was, how he would always love you and that you could still be friends afterwards if that’s what you want. He rambles so beautifully that you almost think it’s all a crazy dream, that there is simply no way all of this can be real.

When he says something that stirs you back to reality, you hold up your hand to stop him. He blinks and you replay what he just said, those last few words, in your mind. You forget about the things that spewed before that and you refocus on just those words.

‘ _I will always love you like a friend._ ’

Well then. That clears it all up, doesn’t it?

You scoff and shake your head while standing up. You ignore his words of protest; you ignore his hand reaching for yours. His lies, his tainted words, are useless now.

“Don’t be such a liar Mats. It doesn’t look good on you.” You say, hoping you sound clever when all you really feel is hurt and…numb. Nothing, you don’t really feel much of anything at all. That’s the misfortune of it. You want to hate him; you want to lash out and hurt him some way that he has hurt you. You want him to feel it but you can’t. You feel too many things to feel something at all, something that you can differentiate from the other emotions coursing through your bloodstream. So you say nothing else and you leave his hotel suite and head into the hallway.

You ignore him as he calls after you.

Somehow, you’re not one hundred percent on how, you make it to the elevator and you hit the button to call it. You don’t want him to make a scene, not that you really expect him to. Mats wouldn’t do that to himself, forget you, but he wouldn’t want the embarrassment to follow him around the national team camp for the duration of this international break. He doesn’t care about your reputation, only his.

You’ve had enough of it. Of this, of the lies. Of all those lies. You’re done. You walk into the elevator and let the doors close behind you as you slide down the wall without hitting a button and you let your legs splay out in front of you. Thank the good lord above there’s no one else in there with you to see you like this. You’re not going to cry, but you want to. Again, you’re too numb to feel much of anything apart from a decisive dislike towards Mats Hummels right now.

The fucking _coward_.

He was going to do that by a text message, even had the damn thing half-typed out when you walked into the room and caught him at it. He had been acting weird towards you all day; now you knew why and that didn’t stop it from hurting any less. How could he? Who the fuck did he think he was?

You don’t really notice when the elevator starts to move again, you don’t care. You guess you should probably pick yourself up, dust yourself off, and look somewhat presentable before the doors open again. After all, you don’t really want to explain why the captain of Schalke is on the floor of the elevator. At least you’re not drunk; no, you’re painfully sober. You don’t have the excuse of alcohol to blame it all on. Oh you wish you could; but then that would be too easy. Then you would be the coward.

The doors of the elevator slide open again and you hear a laugh, a familiar laugh at least, and you glance up and confirm your brief suspicion. He’s on the phone though and it takes him a full second to realize the elevator’s not empty, it’s occupant is just on the floor instead of standing like they’re supposed to be. You hear a muttered ‘ _scheiße_ ’ before he tells the person he was talking to that he’ll call them back.

Then he’s there and he’s got his large, warm hand on your arm and your heart breaks all over again, for the second time that day. _He_ is so perfect, so thoughtful, so _wonderful_. Why couldn’t it have been him? Why did it have to be Mats that you had loved so much? Why couldn’t it have been Manu instead?

He’s calling your name, trying to get you to focus on him and you blink. There’s likely a haze in your eyes, a dazed look that you can’t explain with words, because he’s looking at you like he’s never looked at you before. With concern, with such great concern that he looks almost scared. You feel worse all over again. You don’t want to hurt him. You didn’t want to drag him into this. This isn’t his mess; it’s yours and Mats, and well, really it’s only your mess now, isn’t it? Mats was over you before you even got started really. His pretty lies over the years had sounded so good, so wonderful and you had believed for so long…

Manu hits the stop button on the elevator once he’s inside and the doors close. He’s kneeling next to you and he’s pulled you into his arms. He’s holding you and you take a deep, shuddering breath. Fuck, you’ve been crying. Damn it.

Manu doesn’t ask what happened, and you guess he doesn’t really have to. Manu knows, he _knows_ what Mats has done, what he could do. He’s been there, seen it all and he understands. He gets it in a way that you had wished Mats one day would come to realize, but he never had. Manu gets you more than the Dortmund captain ever could, and he always had. For the third time you ask again, why couldn’t it have been Manu?

“Benny, let’s go to my room. It’ll be more private than…here.” Manu trails off awkwardly and you can imagine there’s a slight redness of embarrassment in his cheeks. You know he’s not particularly great with his words, but any time he does speak, he makes them count. So what if he’s shy? So are you. Neither of you have to be exceptional wordsmiths to communicate. You nod simply and he pulls you carefully to your feet and holds you when you lean into him. He hits the button for the floor you likely just left and he rubs your back gently.

You breathe in the clean smell of his shirt and your body seems to relax a little instantaneously. He’s always been like that for you; a balm when you need to relax and someone familiar, comfortable, when you need it most. Your senses know that Manu is safe and you can relax; you don’t have to be tense around him. Things aren’t awkward, never have been, around the two of you and you’re so glad that if someone, anyone, had to find you that it was him.

He helps you out of the elevator and you walk down the hallway to his room. The numbness has returned and at least you’re not crying any more, thank _God_ because you don’t think you could handle the shame of it. Manuel is here and you can relax, you don’t have to be wound up or holding yourself back from expressing your emotions. Manuel can handle it; he’s seen you at your worst and your best, he’s seen the bad and the good under Mats’ influence also and so he understands. He gets it. You’re so glad he found you.

Manuel lets you into his room and steps back to let you go first. You’re glad you don’t have to share rooms with anyone this trip because you’re not sure how you could explain yourself to Manu’s roommate should he have had one. You move over and you don’t speak, you just sit on the edge of his bed and stare at the floor. You don’t feel like talking. You don’t feel. You just sit and Manu’s large bulk sits next to you and is also seemingly okay with the silence. He leaves his hand on the bed, palm facing upwards towards the ceiling as if its waiting for your hand to join it, the invitation open if you feel so inclined. You don’t so his hand remains there untouched.

“He said it’s over. We’re just friends now.” You say, and you’re not really sure why. You didn’t want to talk, remember? You ask yourself but you don’t really care. Manu is patient; he doesn’t press you for anything else. You don’t look at him either; you couldn’t bear to see the disappointment, or the look of confirmation of his suspicions. You’ve seen him get that look before and you always feel guilty when you see it. How many times have you gone to Manu, spoken to him for hours, and he tells you the same thing? Leave him, let it be over, and move on. How many times have you promised to do just that, only to go back to Mats over and over again? How many times have _you_ lied? To Manu? To yourself? Too many.

“Is that what you want?” Manu asks quietly. You’re not really sure why he asked it, you both know the answer.

It’s so obviously not what you want that it hurts. It hurts in your heart, in your stomach, in your very bones and muscles. You just want to be happy, to be in love, to be with _Mats_. Why is it so hard? Why does Mats have to be such a—

Coward?

“Why couldn’t he just say he made a mistake?” You whisper and you don’t look away from the space of wall you’ve been staring at. The tears sting your eyes as they form, but you don’t shed them nor do you blink them away. Your throat is getting thick and it’s getting hard to breathe, but you don’t move. You don’t do anything except speak. “Why couldn’t he just say it was all a huge mistake? That would hurt less than this.”

“Benny—” Manuel breathes out and then you’re in his arms again and he’s holding you. You start to cry again—God, why can’t you just stop doing that?—and he pulls you down onto the bed with him so that he’s holding you against his chest and you’re clinging to him as if you’re in the middle of the sea and he’s your life preserver. In so many ways he is, he just is your saving grace, and you don’t question it, nor does he.

He just holds you for a long while, so long you lose count of how many hours go past, how many times his or your phone rings or goes off with an alert of something. By the time you come back to your senses, the room is darker and that your stomach growls. Your cheeks redden. How can you be hungry now? How can you do anything except lay here and be immobile?

Manuel hears though, of course he does, and he gives you a squeeze.

“I can order room service if you like?” He asks, always so thoughtful. You nod slowly and he gives a kiss to your forehead. Reluctantly, you pry your hands off of him and let him up to make the order. He knows what you want and you listen as he orders it. Soon enough, he’s back and you’re latched to him again. You wish you weren’t this desperate. You’re an adult man for fuck’s sake. You’re better than this.

“How are you doing?” you ask quietly and hear him smile a little.

“I’m okay.” He replies and you can hear the smile in his voice. You wonder if he’s found someone to make him happy or if he’s just happy because he’s Manuel and he doesn’t have a lover to hurt him the way Mats hurts you. Hurt you. Past tense. Cause it’s over now, remember? “I miss you.”

He adds the three words and you close your eyes again. You wish, not for the first time, that he hadn’t gone to Munich. You needed him at home. You needed your friend to be close by, not just a phone call away, but closer. Neighbors. But, like with everything else, you can’t have what you want, what you really want. So he’s in Munich and you’ve stayed behind with the team you both grew up loving more than any other.

“I miss you too, Manu. More than you know.” You whisper and you’ve not said anything so truthful in a long while.

“Well, I’m here now and I’m always a call away if you need me.” He replies again and he pulls you closer. You want to stay the night here, in his arms. You don’t think you’ve ever been so comfortable before with the lack of expectations Manuel has for you. He’s not asking you for anything, he’s not making any demands of your time. He’s just here, with you, and that’s okay. It’s okay.

Maybe things with Mats really is over and you are single again, officially. Maybe this call up is a giant disaster waiting to happen. Maybe the sky will fall on your head and none of this will matter. Maybe, maybe, maybe…easy to speculate, harder to tell the truth of the situation.

One thing was for certain though. Manuel was here for you and you are so glad that he’s your friend. At least the fact that he loves you like a friend is not an insult, but the steady reassurance that no matter what happens, you’ll always have him for your grounded reality. That fact keeps you sane. That fact is what will get you through room service, the night ahead, and the rest of the call up. And you know that no matter what, that fact will get you through the rest of your life.

Manuel is the best thing that ever happened to you and no matter how many times you find yourself asking ‘why couldn’t it have been Manu?’, the answer doesn’t matter. He’s in your life in the best way possible and that’s where you’re going to keep him. Mats be damned.


End file.
